


Where's Your Guardian Angel?

by HolographicGay



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Broken time line, Burns, Injury, Semi-depiction of injury, Serious Injuries, Shes in pain and goes in ans out of consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:01:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolographicGay/pseuds/HolographicGay
Summary: No one can every be prepared when a life threatening injury takes down part of the team, especially when it's the doctor.It might turn into something more. I'm not sure.AKA. This is my first fic if it can even be concidered that. It started as a pseudo rp starter and just morphed into this. It should also be noted that I'm a salty af support main who is tired of people shitting on me because I can't heal when I'm dead.





	Where's Your Guardian Angel?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking an interest in this. At the time of posting this the story is only part of an RP starter that I was writing that eventually got turned into something semi-angsty.
> 
> Also I wasn't sure how to rate this. If I decided to write more it may change, but who know.

Nothing could have prepared her for the agony that had washed over her. Broken bones and bullet wounds couldn’t hold a match to the flames that licked and burned at her insides. She wasn’t even sure how she ended up here, separated from the rest of her party, in need of the relief that her own Caduceus Staff had offered so many, but not even the built in healing factor within her Valkyrie suit could keep up with the toxic cloud that was forcing its way into every inch of her being. There was a bitter copper taste in her mouth as her body coughed and spit and retched, trying to force whatever this vile substance was out of her in some last ditch attempt to save her own life. She was certain there were flames working their way through her suit, the smell of burning hair and fabric and flesh mixed in a stomach turning melody with the chemical cloud it must have been ignited with the flames. As the world began to fog and darken, be it her own exhaustion the choking smoke, she could tell if the ringing in her ears was her head or the sounds of her comms, but it was tuned out like a fly’s buzzing as her vision finally fell dark.  

Angela. Angela. Angela “Angela, stay with us.” The voices that reached her ears sounded like she was miles away underwater. A stinging in her arm, the buzz of nanotechnology working through every cut and bruise and burn in her body, but it wasn’t enough as she felt exhaustion claim her again, the feeling of the ships thrusters just a vague agitation on her tired and pained body. She remembered the sting when she was lifted and moved to a gurney, irritated skin oozing and sticking to where she had been rested the entire ride and now as the Valkyrie suit, or what remained of it was removed on the way to an operating room. A fleeting thought passed through her mind as another round of nanotech was inserted into her veins was that there were no other doctors here so who was going to help her. It was something never answered and long forgotten by the time she woke up, blue eyes blurry and blinded at the stark white of the medical wing. The scent of antiseptics invaded her nose, something she once found so much comfort in, but as a fiery pain rolled through her body and she heaved and expelled the watery bile that was the only thing inside of her, she thought how much she hated it as it mingled with the taste of sick in her mouth before falling back into the silent embrace of the darkness.

It wasn’t as bright the next time she awoke and she took the chance to look around the room. The only sources of light were the emergency lights that never shut off and the pillar of moonlight flooding through the partially covered windows. A dull ache had taken claim of her body, but it was more desirable than the phantom pains that worked its way up her legs and down her lungs when she sat and thought about what had happened for too long. She gently reached up, limbs weak from exhaustion and lack of use, running her fingers over her face and head. She found a shocking lack of her usual golden locks, instead finding bandages and hair that had been sheared shorter than she had ever remembered having. Her hands began to shake as she raked her fingers through the patch of uncovered hair, ‘It will grow back, Angela, it's only hair. Don’t get so upset.’ But it didn’t help. A soft sob escaped her and the hand in her hair came to her mouth, muffling the broken cry that came from it. She felt like a child, raw and emotional, and the hair was only a catalyst to open the gates that she used to lock in all the stress and pain and worry and agony she felt through it all. Sleep claimed her again as she curled up the best she could in the small bed with the screams of her tender, healing skin.


End file.
